


go with the wind (i'm up in your clouds)

by iPhone



Series: breathe me in [3]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, First Time, Fluff, Romance, Smut, fragments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPhone/pseuds/iPhone
Summary: The times they don’t and the first time they do.
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Series: breathe me in [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420876
Comments: 31
Kudos: 228





	go with the wind (i'm up in your clouds)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asimplefavor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asimplefavor/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHLO! It is your birthday where u are and that means it's another year around the sun!! This didn't turn out quite how I planned, but this was one of the first incomplete fics I remember sharing with u and since then you've ruined my life with your angsty headcanons. Thanks for being a Cool Friend. :) You're the only Anna Kendrick fan I know.
> 
> UNBETA'D AF. I'M SORRY.
> 
> Title from "Surreal" - Louis Futon ft. RKCB

_**one.** _

Beca can recall a few times in her life in which she had been truly awed. Like she had been truly experiencing something for the first time.

The first, she recalls, is the first time her father had installed a diving board for his in-ground pool. Beca had never enjoyed a pool in her life, at least not until then when her parents had already divorced. She had visited her father periodically over the next two years in Atlanta until one day he just had a pool in the large house he shared with his then-girlfriend (turned wife).

She had kicked her legs lazily in the refreshingly cold pool water for the first few days, hesitantly eyeing the brand-new diving board. She had never been a fan of swimming growing up, but she took lessons all the same in a bid to win her parents’ affections (more specifically, that if she did as they wanted, they would just leave her alone).

Her father and Sheila left her alone for the most part. At seventeen and a half years old, Beca had never dove off board before. She had been craving something new – something to make her _feel_ again.

To feel _anything_ once more.

And when she had leaped off the diving board, limbs flailing awkwardly. For a moment, as she had floated right over the shimmering, light blue pool and the unforgiving Atlanta sun had cascaded over the top of her head and her shoulders, she had felt her heart pounding in her chest. She had felt every last sensation thrumming through her body, like her nerves were alight.

In retrospect, she likely hadn’t been more than a couple feet above the surface of the pool, but at seventeen and a half and feeling like she was being tugged in a million directions at once, she had finally felt in control of _something_ in her life.

It had felt like weightlessness.

It was the most free she had ever felt.

And with a splash, she landed, cold water flooding up over her head.

-x-

Dating Chloe is like that.

A myriad of newness and weightlessness all wrapped up in a person who wants her to succeed and be the best version of herself.

The rushes of joy and nervousness all bundling up in near-indescribable aches in Beca’s heart, like she can finally love freely and wholly like never before.

Like she has control over her emotions and at the same time, none at all.

So when Chloe is very clearly letting her set the pace for the still undiscovered physical aspects of their relationship, Beca takes the proffered reins with only a hint of nervousness.

Chloe would never let her drown.

But honestly, when Chloe leaves sweet, lingering kisses on Beca’s lips – in the library, between classes, at coffee shops, in the morning while the Bellas giggle and snicker around them – Beca thinks it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

-x-

Chloe is going to have to rethink bringing Beca to the gym with her. It isn’t that Beca is unmotivated or lazy. The opposite is true: Beca is rather intuitive with exercise and seems to enjoy the exercises Chloe suggests.

The issue is kind of more—well—

It’s more that Beca is surprisingly flexible and agile and her leggings are doing her _all_ the favors, Chloe thinks.

Chloe tilts her head, slowing her jog down to a brisk walk, absentmindedly fumbling with the controls on the machine. Biting her lip, she tilts her head, observing the way Beca stretches and the way her limbs flex and–

Beca definitely catches her staring. Oops.

She ignores the playfully-raised eyebrow Beca shoots her, paired with an even more knowing smirk. _Damn her_.

Chloe huffs, staring determinedly back down at the monitor on her machine, fiddling with a few buttons to occupy her mind.

She can still feel Beca’s smirk, like it is burned into her mind.

-x-

Of course, Chloe can’t _not_ do something about that. She’s very proactive. A few well-placed kisses on Beca’s neck and ear while she attempts to unlock the front door to the blissfully (but suspiciously) quiet Bellas house and Beca basically melts.

Beca’s lips are on hers almost instantaneously when they finally navigate to Chloe’s room. Chloe drops her bag and by the sound of dull thud by her door, she knows Beca has done the same.

“Eager?” Beca asks, in a very specific tone of voice which Chloe can only describe as being the tone Beca uses to rile her up. Chloe hates how well it works.

“Get these off,” Chloe directs, snapping the waistband of Beca’s leggings against her skin. Beca yelps and only pushes herself further into Chloe’s arms. She frowns at Chloe, but only for a moment before she dissolves into giggles and obliges.

Her leggings are discarded somewhere to the side of Chloe’s bed. The same bed on which Chloe falls back. The same bed on which Chloe barely has time to wriggle backwards on before Beca is straddling her hips.

The air whooshes out of her, but it’s hard to care about much else at the moment. Not when Beca’s knees dig into her mattress on either side of her hips and Beca’s hands are in her hair and her hips are bearing down, like Beca is desperately trying to relieve some pressure.

Chloe knows the feeling all too well.

“You’re so hot,” Chloe murmurs, grasping Beca’s cheeks to hold her face steady for a searing kiss.

“You’re so obvious with your staring,” Beca mumbles, except it is stilted and low, between breathless kisses and gentle tugs of Chloe’s lip between blunt, even teeth.

Chloe could retort, she really could, but she can’t do much other than moan throatily because Beca’s hand slides up confidently to palm her breast over her sports bra.

Ever since they both returned from Christmas break, something heavy looms over them. It is a shroud of unspoken tension, wrapped up in the newness of intimacy and the physicality of their relationship.

Chloe would be remiss if she didn’t fully admit that she stares at the photos Beca sent her. Her gaze often grows heavy and her body grows hot. Her hand often drifts down her own body.

More recently – over the past two weeks at least – Chloe finds it easier to not even need Beca’s photos to draw up an image in her mind. She has Beca _there_ with her. All of Beca – Beca’s touch, her kisses, her body draped over hers like it is the only thing capable of keeping Chloe anchored to earth these days.

It kind of sucks living in the Bella house, though, especially in moments like this. Especially when they’re gearing up for competition season still and determined to win more than ever.

And moments like this are, well—

Chloe tries to ignore it, she really does. But steadily, the noise pushes more and more into Chloe and Beca’s little bubble, like the faint hint of smoke seeping through cracks in the seal.

Literal smoke, maybe.

“Is that...is that the fire alarm?” Beca asks breathlessly, lifting her head from Chloe’s neck.

Chloe tightens her fingertips on Beca’s hips, considering how risky it would be if they just stayed there. It almost slips past her lips, a quiet, wanting _stay, please_.

But then—

“That’s definitely—something’s burning,” Chloe says, more than a hint of irritation in her tone. She is still concerned, nonetheless. They _just_ moved into the house. It would suck if they no longer had a house.

Beca grumbles. She pushes herself away from Chloe and off the bed.

Chloe would laugh if she didn’t feel like her sex life was going up in flames as well and based on Beca’s expression, she feels similarly.

-x-

Downstairs, Beca can’t help the accusing glare she sends towards Amy. She knows her hair is probably a little messy and rumpled from Chloe’s fingers, but she is so beyond caring at this point. She lives with children and that’s that.

She doesn’t even care that Amy immediately snickers at her and asks if she interrupted anything. She totally doesn’t even care when she sees the Bellas’ knowing expressions. It would be hilarious how quickly their expressions move from guilt to faux-sympathy.

Completely hilarious, if it weren’t for how wound up Beca _feels_. Chloe’s steady presence next to her keeps her grounded.

-x-

Actually—Beca is so close to just moving into Chloe’s delightfully single bedroom. They talk about it a little, but Beca is unsure and wants to keep up the pretense of distance so it doesn’t weigh so heavily on their relationship.

“This is _new,_ so we can just...take things slow, right?”

The anxiousness on Beca’s face, like all she seeks is Chloe’s approval, makes Chloe soften and cave. She doesn’t push Beca or question it. She just pulls Beca into her arms and kisses her cheek.

“Whatever you want. Even if you’re basically sleeping over every night anyway,” she murmurs before kissing Beca’s chin lazily.

Beca doesn’t protest that. She can’t, not when Chloe makes her feel safe and loved and wanted all at once.

* * *

_**two.** _

Chloe understands what it means to want and what it means to desire. Conceptually, they are similar – so close in meaning that she often conflates the two. They manifest in the feeling that courses through her body when Beca touches her intimately and so, so gently. They manifest in the feeling that thrums through her quietly enough, but with the intensity of the bluest of flames.

She also is so conscious of how wet she is already, how much her body aches for Beca to finally touch her, which Beca is, mostly. Beca’s hands move a familiar path up her back, circling her hips, then up her abdomen to rest against her breasts. Chloe can only let herself fall to Beca’s touch. The sureness of Beca’s fingers pinching at her nipple, lightly at first. Then, firmer, when Chloe’s tongue slips into her mouth.

The heat spreads fast and at an unforgiving pace, but nothing is more unforgiving than the impossibly fast way her heart beats, threatening to burst from her chest. Passion and love spill over, giving way to the most base desire: between Chloe’s legs, she feels every last shift of her underwear against wet skin; between Chloe’s legs, she wants to have Beca’s hands and lips and tongue, exploring at her behest.

Chloe grabs Beca's hip with one hand and while the other travels down to the hemline of her underwear. She skims over fabric, whimpering when she feels nothing but the smooth expanse of Beca’s thigh. She skims downwards, downwards, then back up to aid the subtle, light rocking of Beca’s hips. Boldly, her hand touches Beca’s ass – tentatively at first – and when Beca moans long and low into her mouth, she grips the firm flesh. She relishes the feeling of her fingers digging to Beca’s skin. The way firm flesh gives way to her grip. The way Beca’s hips grind down insistently and rhythmically.

In a moment, Chloe finds her mouth is chasing empty air. She blinks her eyes open, breathless and panting. She opens her mouth to protest – to demand that Beca return to her previous activity, but what she sees stops her short. Beca is breathing heavily above her, hands planted on either side of Chloe’s head, like she is holding herself up – just barely – from collapsing into Chloe’s body.

“What?” she murmurs.

"Would you..." Beca licks her lips, hesitating like she has never asked for whatever she is about to ask for, never before in her life. Her gaze is heavy and poignant, heated in a way that sends rampant desire through Chloe’s body. "Uh, could you—could you…kiss my neck again?"

It is a simple enough question, but it is the _way_ Beca asks. It is the way Beca’s eyelids flutter, demure and soft like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

It is the way Beca looks shy but determined all at once. It is the way Beca’s cheeks seem to flush even more.

It is the way Beca’s hips still and like she is freezing their moment just to get her request across because that is how much she aches for it and wants it.

How much she aches for Chloe and _wants_ Chloe.

Chloe can’t help the whimper that escapes – a whimper, a moan – at the sound of Beca’s voice making that specific request. Beca responds bodily: a shudder ripples through her and she pauses enough to let Chloe roll them onto their sides. She pulls Beca close so that no air can pass between them.

“I feel insane,” Beca mumbles. She tilts her head back to grant Chloe access, while lifting her thigh up over Chloe’s hip. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she admits, clearly too gone to care about her brain-to-mouth filter being completely decimated. Saying things like that feel more and more natural and the response she receives—Chloe’s pleased little hum—only stokes the fire coursing through her. “Please,” she begs, when Chloe’s lips trail along her jaw.

Chloe is nobody to deny Beca Mitchell when she begs. How could she?

When Beca looks at her the way she does.

When her voice wavers just the right way.

When Beca tacks on another quiet “please” weaker than before.

It takes just a slow press of her lips against Beca’s neck. She lingers and waits, categorizing the sensation of Beca’s skin against her lips. She waits, then darts her tongue out just once. The faintest taste of salt. The vibration in Beca’s throat when she moans.

-x-

Beca is warm and soft and absolutely writhing against Chloe’s body. She slips her hand beneath the waistband of her underwear to cup Beca’s ass. She could just slip her hand around or further down–

Abruptly, the loudest of knocks sounds at Chloe’s bedroom door. She doesn’t quite register it until the knocks continue persistently and louder than before.

“Hey, Chlo–”

Chloe isn’t sure who screams—herself or Beca—but it is unfortunately Beca who squirms her way right off the bed and onto Chloe’s floor, landing with a thump.

“Oh crap!” It’s Cynthia-Rose, Chloe discovers belatedly, and thankfully she has enough tact to quickly slam the door shut again. But she does not leave entirely. Her voice floats back through the wood. “I’m really sorry guys, but your presence is needed. Either one of you.” Her voice grows distant. “We’re not picky. You guys just need to deal with the electricity people.” A pause. “But we’re kind of hoping for Chloe.”

“Holy shit,” Beca mutters from somewhere to Chloe’s left.

Chloe laughs and retrieves Beca’s shorts from the corner of her bed. “Sorry,” she says, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she flings the garment over the side of the bed. “Bellas come first, I guess.”

Beca laughs, finding somehow that she agrees despite it all.

-x-

“Are we...are we the parents?” Beca asks Chloe over dinner one night. It’s cute that Beca chooses that moment to ask that while she’s still wearing the apron Chloe had pulled over her head while she had been making dinner. Weekly Bellas dinner and all.

“Yes,” a chorus of voices sounds from around them, followed by a cacophony of giggles.

Chloe pops a fry into her mouth and resists from grinning at Beca. “I guess we are.”

Despite the blush that rises on Beca’s cheeks and neck, she manages a small smile at Chloe, but it disappears fairly quickly when Amy puts Beca in a light headlock.

* * *

_**three.** _

But, Chloe supposes, parents have limits.

In desperation, Chloe had slipped a twenty to Jessica and all but begged her to herd the other Bellas out of the house for a few hours.

“Go see a movie,” she whispered, cognizant of the desperation in her tone. “I don’t care. Just leave us alone.”

Jessica looked like she had been about to laugh, but she swallowed her laughter and tossed Chloe a quick salute before making herself scarce. She also had mercifully not commented on the uncharacteristic blush on Chloe’s face. Mild, of course, but a blush nonetheless.

The past is the past now, however. Her attempt at a quiet night with Beca escalated not too long ago and Chloe wasn’t – isn’t – going to complain about having an armful of Beca Mitchell.

The damp cotton between Beca’s legs makes her ache. She can feel it distinctly, like all her nerves are on fire. Sometimes Beca’s center grazes Chloe’s lower abdomen. Sometimes she rocks against her thigh. But nothing changes the fact that she can _feel_ literal evidence of how wet Beca is against her.

But there are a million other sensations to fixate on.

Beca moans softly into the kiss before she pulls away to rest her forehead against Chloe’s in a brief reprieve. She trembles and her hips jolt ever so slightly like she’s trying to resist from grinding herself into Chloe’s hand. The hand currently exploring between her legs. Chloe’s fingers gently bump against the distinctly distended part of the fabric, skimming over what she knows to be Beca’s clit. The knowledge of that, of knowing what Beca’s clit feels like underneath soft cotton, makes the strangest strained sound escape her mouth.

She shifts her fingers experimentally. The sensation of wet cotton is _incredible_ to Chloe. It shouldn’t be, but the knowledge of what lies just beneath is enough to send butterflies ricocheting through Chloe’s stomach.

Beca’s hips twitch upwards. “ _Chloe,_ ” Beca rasps. Beca’s voice, especially _like that_ , makes her heart race more.

How badly she wants _more_. It courses through her body like lightning. Repeated bolts of arousal, right to her aching cunt.

But Chloe jolts back to reality in a moment when Beca’s hand glides over the back of her own hand and applies the barest hint of pressure. Both their eyes fall shut for a moment when the softest whimper leaves Beca’s throat. Chloe stills her fingers, letting Beca’s hand guide her, but Beca is neither moving nor applying anymore pressure. Heat flares through Chloe all at once, but then Beca’s hand moves again, so she is gently touching Chloe’s wrist. Then, gently – still so gently like Beca thinks this moment is so delicate – Beca is wrapping slim fingers around her wrist. “I–” Beca tilts her head back, her body tensing momentarily.

Chloe holds her breath, enraptured by the way the tendons in Beca’s neck visibly flex and strain when Beca swallows heavily. She lowers her head to kiss Beca’s neck, tasting the barest hint of salt on warm skin. She keeps her movements slow, then steadies to rest her lips against Beca’s neck, staying as still as her hand between Beca’s legs.

The moment expands. Chloe wants to stay – how badly she wants to stay in this moment with Beca – and remember every last second.

Then, Beca inhales deeply and Chloe lifts her head to catch Beca’s gaze. Beca blinks, her eyes dark and filled with desire. It makes Chloe shudder, so she leans in to press a soft, wanting kiss against Beca’s slightly parted lips. Beca’s hand shifts around her wrist, before her grip loosens, which Chloe takes as a sign to move her fingers again, brushing lightly over Beca’s clit.

Beca gasps out a breath again, her hips rocking up just once. She pulls Chloe in closer for a deep kiss, keeping her hand on the back of Chloe’s neck and tangling her fingers in the strands of hair she finds at the nape of her neck. Chloe’s fingers slip again to the distinctly damp patch on Beca’s underwear, where she feels the outline of Beca’s entrance.

“Fuck,” Chloe murmurs, unable to help herself this time. She presses experimentally against the fabric, taking the moment to catch her breath. She could push the fabric away right then. Her fingers could continue.

She can see it in her mind: Beca’s trembling gasp, hot and desperate into Chloe’s mouth. They’d barely be kissing. Just enough to maintain contact. And after a deep inhale and an inviting press of Beca’s hips against her, Chloe’s fingers could just slip inside Beca for the first time.

Then, Beca exhales her own shaky breath again – hot against Chloe’s kiss-swollen lips – yet different from how she had sighed just moments before. Chloe hears the shift immediately and stops her ministrations, looking up to meet Beca’s eyes in concern. Beca takes a moment to gather herself, tongue darting out to moisten her lips even more. “I’m not–” Beca cuts herself off and blinks rapidly. “Chlo,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly, apology written all over her face.

A wave of cold crashes over Chloe, like being dunked straight into an ice bath.

Chloe hates that she put any kind of apologetic expression on Beca’s face at all. The chill ripples up Chloe’s spine, spiraling into panic. She jolts and quickly moves her hand away. “I'm so sorry! Carried away,” she explains hastily, then immediately cringes at that half-hearted explanation. “I’m sorry,” she repeats quickly and sincerely. She moves off Beca’s body, mourning the loss but deadset on making sure Beca feels comfortable enough to talk to her. “I’m so sorry, Bec.”

"No!" Beca protests. It kind of sounds like a shout and surprises them both. She pushes up a little so she is suddenly pulling Chloe close. She drapes her arms over Chloe’s shoulder and resting her forearms behind Chloe’s neck and head. Chloe is so aware of the way Beca’s thighs tense around her hips – a reminder of their position. “It's okay! I just…when you touched me, it felt good, I promise. I just don’t think–” Beca swallows nervously, the motion in Beca’s throat visible due to their proximity. “…I’m not ready yet.”

Chloe blinks back the sudden urge to cry. There is the barest hint of shame or possibly guilt in Beca’s voice and it makes something inside Chloe claw at her heart so painfully. “God, I know and I just – I just did that without asking. I never…I’m sorry,” she repeats, cringing when Beca raises an eyebrow. “I just feel like I crossed some boundaries there and I’ve been really trying to be careful because I love you and re–”

Any other words are taken from her lips as Beca kisses her softly – softer than Chloe expects. Softer than Beca has ever kissed her. A reminder that only Chloe gets to see this side of Beca, vulnerabilities and all. It’s an effective kiss too, silencing Chloe’s mental and verbal tirade against herself mostly.

So, when Beca pulls back, Chloe’s feels some tension leave her body and she lets her hands rest tenderly on Beca’s waist, settling on holding her.

"I know you’ve been so respectful, it’s…it kind of blows my mind, honestly,” Beca says lightly, like she’s surprised to begin with. The thought of Beca being surprised at the idea of Chloe giving her a wide berth makes her heart clench and the hottest protective streak flare up, thinking of whatever might or might not have happened in Beca’s past – a past Beca has alluded to before, but never really dwells on. Chloe relaxes all at once however, because Beca’s hands are moving again, this time in a soothing manner. Chloe’s eyelids flutter at the sensation of Beca’s fingers combing through her hair gently. "It's not like I didn’t…” Beca laughs a little breathlessly. “Well, I mean, I obviously got a little carried away, too, so like–”

“We can just cuddle,” Chloe interrupts because poor Beca looks like she is about to have a conniption. “Look, I’ll just–” She wriggles out of Beca’s grasp to faint protest and reaches to grab her comforter. She pulls it right up around their shoulders and grins at Beca proudly. “Comfy?”

“No,” Beca replies, brow furrowing. Chloe’s heart drops. “Just–” Beca sighs like it is such a chore and pulls at Chloe’s arms so they’re wrapped around her securely. “Hold me,” she murmurs, tucking her head against Chloe’s shoulder. “We can talk later, I promise. But please, just hold me.”

“You are so soft,” Chloe comments, unable to stop the little giggle that leaves her mouth. “And so _cute_.”

“Shut up,” Beca singsongs, jabbing her thumb into Chloe’s side.

Chloe gasps and pushes her fingers against Beca’s sides, trying to find that one spot that makes Beca burst into peals of laughter.

“Fuck,” Beca gasps after she exhausts herself squirming and laughing. “Fuck, okay, I’m _sorry_.”

Chloe presses a grin into Beca’s hair and wraps her arms around Beca once more.

“You know,” Beca murmurs after a quiet moment. She runs her fingers lightly over Chloe’s arm, sending pleasant tingles up Chloe’s spine. “I thought I was totally ready. I paid Amy like fifty bucks to get out of the house.”

It takes Chloe about ten minutes to stop laughing to respond coherently enough to Beca’s demands to stop laughing at her expense.

* * *

_**f**_ _**our.** _

It only makes sense that singing would give them both some kind of high. Singing and _winning,_ Chloe thinks smugly when she sees a familiar glint in Beca’s eyes from across the stage. To her surprise—and probably Beca’s own surprise as well—Beca stalks across the stage, pulling away from Amy’s side and pulls Chloe into her arms for a deep, very public kiss.

Chloe grins as best as she can against Beca’s mouth, filing away the quips that come to mind for later.

Instead, she loses herself in the sensation of kissing her girlfriend on a national stage, in front of a cheering crowd. Behind them, she’s sure, somebody hoists a trophy, but Chloe can only bring herself to tighten her arms around Beca’s waist.

-x-

Nobody questions them or makes any comments. In fact, it is almost _too_ eerily peaceful and quiet when the rest of the Bellas let them go without complaint.

“Did you pay them?” Chloe asks before she can help herself.

“No,” Beca says in wonder. “Did you? Why didn’t they try to drag us out with them?”

Chloe stands from the bed, walking slowly over to where Beca is still standing by the door. “You’re free to go,” she comments, lowering her voice. She leans in to nip playfully at Beca’s lower lip. “Or...” she fingers the button of Beca’s jeans, slowly popping the button free.

Beca licks her lips, her eyes flicking down to watch Chloe’s progress with her jeans. “Or—?” she repeats softly.

Chloe kisses her. Properly this time. She kisses Beca soundly and passionately, pleased when Beca responds immediately. Beca’s hands immediately slide around her back and pull at the fabric of her shirt, like if she were persuaded, she might be able to pull the shirt right off Chloe’s body like _that_. The thought immediately makes Chloe’s thighs tense and she whimpers into Beca’s mouth.

It’s weird but she can totally tell when Beca is _smug_ when they’re kissing. The way her tongue brushes against Chloe’s lips, then flicks into her mouth as she parts her lips.

“Tease,” Chloe murmurs, taking great care to brush her lips over Beca’s in an achingly slow and soft manner. Without her eyes open, she can feel Beca’s smile against her lips, but only for a moment before Beca is pushing forward again and capturing Chloe’s lips with her own.

“I’m ready,” Beca whispers when she pulls back.

Chloe blinks. “You are?” Her heart races.

“Yes,” Beca whispers, soft and quiet against Chloe’s lips. “Yes, I want you so much, Chlo.”

Chloe has been desired and wanted many times in her life and for varying reasons: as a lab partner in high school because she had the highest grade in the class and people knew she would carry them; platonically sometimes, such as being wanted as a friend or a shoulder to cry on; wanted because she auditioned for a team and her skills were recognized appropriately.

And finally, there was also the concept of being wanted sexually, obviously, not something wholly unfamiliar in Chloe’s wheelhouse of experiences.

With every instance of being wanted, Chloe thought all associated feelings – the feeling of sheer elation, to name one – would kind of fade eventually. She thought the appeal would die.

But now – now as Beca whispers that, breath hot against Chloe’s skin, all Chloe sees is her entire life laid out before her in vibrant color; her entire life like she has never seen it before.

And before her, it is all because of Beca. Beca, with her hair mussed and sprawled across Chloe’s pillow; Beca, with her lips a little swollen; Beca, with the most adorable pink tinge to her cheeks.

And of course—

Beca, with trust in her eyes, like she would not be able to be anywhere else than there in Chloe’s arms. Chloe knows that feeling all too well.

“You trust me,” Chloe says softly. It is meant to be a statement of fact, nothing more. Instead, it comes out on a hitch of her breath and ends up being filled with so much wonder that Chloe is amazed she simply does not float off into nothingness.

“You trust me,” Beca parries back, the mildest glint of playfulness in her eyes. “So, I guess we’re even.”

Chloe’s breath catches. Whenever Beca catches her off-guard like that (the sentimentality of Beca Mitchell is so rare, so Chloe treasures every moment), Chloe always finds herself wanting to stay in the moment for as long as she can. It is, however, a little difficult to linger anywhere with Beca’s hands gripping her ass so boldly and freely.

With want in her eyes.

Despite the layer of desire, the playfulness in Beca’s eyes only grows, so Chloe busies herself with lifting herself up off Beca’s body to pull her shirt over her head. When she refocuses on Beca’s face, she is pleased to note that Beca’s expression isn’t quite so smug anymore. Bexa swallows.

“What?” Chloe asks, wondering if it’ll ever get old, that feeling that swoops through her stomach whenever Beca so much as looks in her direction.

“I want you so much, Chlo," Beca says thickly. “Like, a lot,” she murmurs. She falters, evident in the way her shoulders tense under Chloe’s hands. "I'm just worried I'm not going to be good at this." Her eyes dart up to Chloe’s. “This whole thing. With you. Sex, with you,” she clarifies.

The insecurity in Beca’s voice sends an unpleasant hum through Chloe’s body. She pulls Beca to her, close enough so their legs tangle neatly and Beca’s head is tucked against her "Oh Beca, no," Chloe says emphatically. “I cannot express to you how impossible that would be. You being bad at this.”

Beca’s head shifts against her shoulder, like she is nodding in agreement or encouraging Chloe to continue speaking.

Chloe chooses her next words carefully, but she cannot help the way her voice wavers and practically drops an octave when she murmurs Beca’s name to get her attention. “I cannot express to you how wet you make me, even just by looking at me. You have no idea, Bec. You drive me crazy every day. So, there’s no way you’re not going to be anything less than incredible because you’re you and I love you so much.”

Through this, Chloe keeps one hand wrapped around Beca’s shoulder and moves another to Beca’s thigh. The fact that they are both only in their underwear barely passes through her mind, but the arousal still hums, just below the surface. She intends her touch to mean nothing beyond comfort, however, and the way Beca’s body relaxes into her side is telling enough.

“Okay?” Chloe asks, wondering if Beca wants to stop for the night. She would be happy to, so long as her girlfriend gets it through her head that she could never disappoint Chloe. Not here, at least, in the privacy and safety of her bed. Not when Beca is sweet and thoughtful and so, so careful with Chloe’s needs. Chloe hopes Beca recognizes that Chloe wants to reciprocate every last ounce of care. “We can sleep,” she offers. “If that’s what you want,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of Beca’s head. “Just lie here with me.”

Beca is nodding – or at least Chloe thinks she is. Beca is nodding until she’s not and she is pushing away from Chloe’s side slightly. Her head lifts from Chloe’s shoulder and Chloe’s mouth nearly dries at the sight of Beca’s unabashed expression of lust and love.

If Chloe had been surprised before, Beca’s hand is suddenly behind her back and fiddling with her bra clasp, like a woman possessed. Chloe is not quite anticipating the steadiness of Beca’s kiss when she pushes up to kiss Chloe.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Beca murmurs, bold and quiet all at once. She looks up at Chloe, eyelids fluttering attractively. “If that’s okay with you.”

Chloe tries not to whimper too eagerly when Beca’s hands push at Chloe’s bra with equally eager hands. “Yes,” she murmurs, tilting her head to kiss Beca’s cheek, then her jaw, then down her neck. Beca’s hands come up to palm her breasts and the moan Chloe emits is positively sinful. Chloe would be a little embarrassed at how on-edge she is already, but she can’t bring herself to care because Beca is slowly nudging her onto her back before straddling her hips.

Beca bites her lip when Chloe’s hands slide up her thighs. Chloe’s touch is so reverent and soft, like Beca is beautiful and cherished.

And it makes Beca _believe_ it all – that she is beautiful and cherished and so, so wanted – because all she sees is sheer love pouring from Chloe’s eyes.

And trust.

And sincerity.

Fleetingly, the thought that passes through her mind just then feels so out of place. It is this: Beca is so happy that she opted to leave the dim hotel lights on. The previous insecurities about having lights on – of being able to see every last flaw reflected in Chloe’s eyes – all of that fades away. All that is left is the most pleasant feeling of being _loved_ and safe in Chloe’s presence.

Beca can see _everything_ : the errant, wild curls of Chloe’s hair in such contrast against the plain white hotel sheets; the wide, blue-eyed gaze so fixated on Beca’s every movement – sometimes like Chloe doesn’t even know _where_ to look; the way Chloe’s hand lifts to push her messy hair back from her forehead; the way Chloe’s lips curve into a smile so tender and affectionate that Beca all but melts into her body, leaning over so their chests are pressed together and Beca can press her lips to Chloe’s.

Beca has every intention of slowly building up to more with her kiss, but the moment her lips touch Chloe’s and the moment Chloe’s hands glide from her thighs to her hips to her ass to gently guide her in a slow rocking motion...she is gone. She knows she must be floating in some way because her body is weightless and all she knows is Chloe’s body pressed against her own. She can feel everything – every brush of Chloe’s lips against her own, every teasing squeeze of Chloe’s hands, every last tickle of Chloe’s hair against her shoulders–

“I love you,” she murmurs, trapping the words between their mouths. “I love you and I want you,” she repeats. “Please, Chlo.”

Chloe doesn’t respond. She can’t, at least not at the moment. Not while she is attempting to trap Beca’s lower lip between her own, devolving into messier and messier kisses until they’re barely touching, just breathing heavily against each other like nothing else matters.

So she doesn’t respond.

Instead, she secures an arm around Beca’s back and places a hand steadily on the back of Beca’s neck. Slowly – so slowly – she shifts and nudges until Beca is on her back, her legs still framing Chloe’s hips loosely. The change in position, though gentle and slow, causes the air to leave Beca’s lungs in a sudden rush of desire. She tenses her thighs and crosses her ankles just above Chloe’s ass, holding her body close.

For a long moment, Beca just allows herself to _feel_. She has done nothing but _feel_ since Chloe quietly mentioned that she had planned for them to have alone time in the hotel. That Chloe had wanted some time apart from the Bellas and the rest of their crazy lives just to _be_ with Beca, whatever that entailed.

Whatever it took, just to spend time together. That had been the bedrock of Chloe’s adoration for her and Beca can see and feel all of that now. It especially manifests in how Chloe feels cradled between her legs. Beca can only hope that she is conveying even an ounce of how Chloe makes her feel.

-x-

Chloe wants to _feel everything_.

“Can I?” Chloe asks softly. She takes a moment to quickly swipe her tongue over her lower lip. Her body is clearly sending her mixed signals at the height of all these new emotions and new sensations because she had thought her lips were chapped and dry. She had been nervous about what Beca had felt when she had been kissing along her inner thighs. Like whether Beca felt like Chloe’s lips were scratchy or too dry. Like whether Chloe was making anything uncomfortable at all for her girlfriend.

Her lower lip is distinctly _not_ dry, but rather, still wet. Already wet. More wet.

She realizes she is tasting _Beca_ for the first time – tasting Beca off her lower lip because Beca had been that wet. Almost dripping. Beca had shifted and rubbed her own thighs together while Chloe had kissed along her breasts and took her nipple between her lips. Beca had been aroused long enough that her thighs were streaked with evidence of her arousal.

Chloe barely manages to stifle a moan, conscious of the way Beca’s dark eyes are fixated on her, like she’s waiting for Chloe’s next move with utmost concentration.

 _For me? Is this all for me?_ , she wants to ask, desperate for validation of some kind. Instead, she only manages a totally weird and uncool squeak as she tries to clear her throat. “Bec,” she tries again, hearing the strange tonality of her voice in her ears, like something foreign and new. “Beca–?”

“Yeah,” Beca rasps, lifting her head with some difficulty. She groans and props herself up on her elbow instead so she can peer down the length of her body and watch Chloe’s progress between her legs. “Yeah, Chlo. Please. Please, just—something. Anything.”

That’s all the validation Chloe needs.

Flattening her tongue, Chloe licks—presses deep—from right between slick folds, probing as best as she can, right up to her girlfriend’s clit. She hums at the sensation and the taste before she feels a sharp tug at her hair.

“Oh,” she murmurs, lifting her head. “I’m sorry, I can-“

Beca doesn’t let her finish. Instead, Chloe feels Beca’s fingers flex in her hair again before Beca’s unclenches her hand and lets Chloe’s strands go. “No,” Beca groans out. Her voice is almost unrecognizable to Chloe. “Please don’t stop.”

Just when Chloe thinks Beca couldn’t possibly get any hotter, Beca’s hand drops between her own legs and two swift fingers begin rubbing quick tight circles on her clit. Then, she is arching her back and displaying her breasts beautifully in such an uncommon, blatant show of sexuality. Chloe gapes and barely resists from grinding her aching cunt down on the bedspread below her, just to get some friction going there.

“You’re incredible,” Chloe mumbles, already leaning back down with parted lips. She licks Beca again—entrance to clit—and relishes the deep shudder that shakes through Beca’s body.

So she does it again.

She licks again and again, changing the pressure of her tongue, whether she’s using the broad part of her tongue or just the tip. She focuses on Beca’s sounds as best as she can, like whether Beca whimpers or cries out when Chloe makes her tongue flex into a point to nudge at Beca’s clit with more pressure.

Beca’s hips are dangerously close to knocking Chloe clean off her body and potentially off the bed, but she holds fast. She tightens and readjusts her hold on Beca until her arms are under Beca’s thighs and her hands are alternating between pressing firmly to Beca’s lower abdomen, gripping her hips, or essentially holding Beca’s thighs apart.

-x-

Beca is in awe of how tenderly Chloe touches her.

At first, when Chloe began kissing her way down her body, Beca’s body had coiled with tension that she mistook as impatience.

It had felt so slow, like the drip of water from a faucet, incessant and slowing in frequency. Beca wanted it to _end_ , but simultaneously never stop.

Beca thought that she wanted Chloe to _fuck_ her – to get this built-up tension to leave her body, _finally_.

But now, with each pass of Chloe’s tongue between her legs, each light graze of Chloe’s teeth against her inner thigh, Beca can’t imagine being anywhere else other than this exact precipice. She is balanced so precariously, at the care of Chloe’s hands, lips, and tongue.

There are a million things she wants to say – a million things she wants to do – all in response to Chloe. Nothing but Chloe. All she _knows_ is the way Chloe Beale makes her feel, like slowly submerging her body in warmth and heat and just–

“Beca,” Chloe’s voice echoes, somewhere in the distance. _Stop saying my name_ , Beca thinks. Everything is hazy. Beca’s eyes fly open and white hot pleasure strikes her low in her belly. She aches, suddenly aware that Chloe has stopped licking and sucking and doing sinful things with her mouth. Instead, Chloe’s fingers tense and coil around her thighs, making Beca immediately think of what else Chloe could do with those fingers. How desperately her center aches and throbs for Chloe to fill her like she _needs_.

These primal thoughts send another resounding wave of arousal through her and she barely manages a gasp in response to Chloe’s unspoken inquiry. Tilting her head down, she can see Chloe staring back at her with so much want in her eyes.

“Oh fuck,” Beca whimpers. “Fuck, Chlo.”

“Tell me,” Chloe begs. “ _Please_.” Beca can feel how wet Chloe is, with the way her leg draps across Beca’s thigh as she arches up and above Beca’s body. Chloe hovers, her cheeks pink with heat and lust and desperation all at once, but her eyes shine with the truth of how much she wants Beca and how much she _loves_ her.

And her fingers—they dance up the inside of Beca’s thigh, ready and waiting.

“Please,” Beca echoes faintly. “I want you,” she promises in return.

Chloe whimpers, tilting her head down to kiss her. Her nips are sharper than usual as she tugs at Beca’s lower lip with purpose. Twin whimpers escape them when Chloe’s fingers finally slide inside her, snug and pressed tightly inside her. The memory of Beca describing what it had been like to get herself off feels so distant now—now that Chloe’s the one bringing her white hot pleasure like she’s never experienced before.

She think Chloe says something, hot and muffled against her mouth, but she can’t feel much more than her body’s desire to help force Chloe’s fingers deeper inside her, like she needs Chloe to _stay_ forever.

But she _is_ aware of the deep groan Chloe emits, her arm curling around Beca’s head just tightly enough to press their cheeks together. Tenderness amidst the chaose.

There is something especially carnal about the way Chloe’s entire body seems to move with her slow, shallow thrusts.

The way her shoulders draw up, the way her mouth moves against Beca’s neck, the way she grinds herself down against Beca’s thigh.

Slow, undulating hips with all the promise of a talented musician and dancer. Beca would know.

Timed with each pass of Chloe’s fingers through tightness.

Wetness.

And so, so rhythmic. All of it, washing over Beca like a fucking crescendo of passion.

She makes out the rhythm faintly. There must be words to go with it all.

It–

It is–

It is in the quiet whimpers Chloe releases against her skin. Her breath is hot, making already damp skin even warmer.

Or perhaps it is the way Chloe freezes her own hips, pressing her wet cunt down hard against Beca’s thigh.

 _Use me,_ Beca thinks. She only manages a strangled moan, which Chloe swipes from her mouth with a well-timed kiss.

Chloe’s kiss is everything. Wet, swollen lips—everything is wet to Beca now, wet, wet-

Beca moans around Chloe’s tongue — moans at the intrusion. The dual effect — Chloe’s tongue and Chloe’s fingers — fills Beca with so much pleasure and then, like there sparks shooting across every inch of her body, she coils.

 _Full,_ she thinks. _Filled._

The thought is so laden with lust and arousal on the surface that Beca is content to linger and let that consume her. She lets it consume her like a gnawing hunger for _more_ — “please,” stiltedly from her lips — of Chloe Beale.

But she feels it simmering just beneath the surface.

And all at once, everything muddles together like one concise memory: Chloe’s fingers, the cycle of her hips, her quiet, needy whimpers against Beca’s skin, Chloe—

Just Chloe—

Chloe, wrapped in love. Chloe, in love with Beca and giving her everything.

The coil snaps, just a bit, but it snaps nonetheless like a sharp bolt of pleasure right to her already aching cunt.

And as Beca gasps for air and grapples with whatever skin on Chloe’s back and shoulders she can reach, Chloe pulls her out as easily as she coaxed Beca in all those months ago.

“Beca,” she murmurs, eyes wide with something akin to awe. “Look at me, baby,” she begs. “Please.”

Beca does.

Light explodes in her mind.

-x-

Beca starts slow. Or at least she tries to. Her mind buzzes and her body aches, but she pushes Chloe back nonetheless and lays back down, letting her fingers dance up Chloe’s smooth, warm skin until she grows impatient with herself and pushes Chloe’s thighs apart. Chloe laughs, breathlessly, leaning up on her elbows to watch Beca with undisguised delight. “Beca,” she whispers, mostly in awe.

Beca’s hands move to Chloe’s hips to use them as an anchor to pull herself in closer. She refuses to allow anxiety into the bed with them—not with everything. Not when all she wants to do is taste her girlfriend and fuck her and _love_ her down until there’s nothing left between them but breathless pants and tired smiles. Chloe gasps again at the sensation of Beca’s breath between her legs—so warm and thick and intimate up close.

Everything is so different up close like this, Beca thinks. Her tongue darts out experimentally, licks just enough to get a taste of Chloe and Chloe moans low in her throat. She’s swollen—still achingly wet. Beca vividly recalls the way Chloe’s hips had twitched to rub herself on her thigh while she had two fingers buried inside Beca’s own aching cunt—she clenches at the memory and licks again, firmer.

This is a lesson in Chloe’s body—a lesson in how to love Chloe Beale.

Again.

Beca tries to recall what Chloe had enjoyed when she had touched herself—remembers the sounds Chloe made and she wants to imitate them. She wants to elicit all the same reactions.

Chloe’s hips hit a rhythm the same time Beca’s mouth does and they work well together, Chloe canting her hips to increase pressure, to encourage Beca to go faster. Long, slender fingers tangle into her hair, holding her close, much like Beca had immediately grabbed onto the bedspread.

Beca sucks forcefully before her tongue comes out to flick at Chloe’s clit, enjoying the sensation of the nub against her taste buds.

“Beca,” Chloe rasps, cutting through the haze. “Bec, oh my God—” the words tumble out of Chloe quickly and weakly like she cannot contain them. “Don’t stop,” she mumbles, legs spreading even further to accommodate Beca between them. “ _Please_ , God, inside—”

 _Inside_ , Beca thinks. _Slowly_.

And slowly she does, watching in awe—eyes flicking between Chloe’s face and between her legs—as her fingers sink inside Chloe. There is a gentleness in the way Chloe’s body reacts to it, her back curling in a graceful arc before dropping heavily back down onto the mattress. Her hips grind upwards and for a moment Beca can do nothing but stare in awe at the visceral, instant reaction.

She cannot help it, she rises up on her knees, one hand on the flat plane of Chloe’s stomach before curling around her hip. Then her fingers begin thrusting slowly, enough to keep a steady pace going for Chloe’s hips to rock back against.

“I’m so close,” Chloe murmurs.

Beca nods, leaning down to brush a kiss against a stiff nipple. She kisses around soft skin before returning and trapping Chloe’s nipple between her lips. Her explorations continue, as steadily as the consistent way Chloe’s cunt squeezes her fingers—down, down, until she bends to kiss down Chloe’s belly, taking in bits of perspiration as she goes.

And finally, almost returning to her flat position between Chloe’s legs, Beca instinctively knows—she feels it in her bones—that she must—

“ _Beca_ ,” Chloe whimpers.

Beca gently draws Chloe’s clit between her lips, sucking softly and lovingly—moaning deep within her throat and chest as she does so.

It is Chloe’s stomach tenses first, then her hips, her thighs. Beca feels it all—and she hears it too, above the rushing in her ears. Beca feels the press of skin against her ears, the flex of strong muscle as Chloe comes with a sharp cry.

Chloe rocks against her mouth and Beca licks slowly, carefully, drawing her hand away and replacing the empty space with her lips and tongue until Chloe says her name again and her fingers flex in her hair. “Beca, c’mere.”

The climb back up Chloe’s body is slow: Beca takes her time, mapping her new favorite paths. She kisses Chloe’s hips, the undersides of her breasts, pebbled nipples, then finally up the column of Chloe's throat. Each kiss more delicate than the last. Reverent. Loving.

Chloe’s hands slide up Beca’s back, over her shoulders then into her hair and when Beca reaches Chloe’s mouth Chloe kisses her soundly a few times, smiling all the while.

“You’re an overachiever,” Chloe whispers. “Nerd.”

Beca smiles too, adjusts so she can lay against Chloe’s side, props her head up on her elbow. “You love me.” She tries not to be smug about it, but it’s hard knowing deep inside that Chloe is _it_ for her.

Chloe giggles, the sound music to Beca’s ears. Her heart is still pounding and with a tentative hand on Chloe’s chest, she feels that the same is true there. Together, they curl up together, Chloe tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling; Chloe tilting her head back to stare at nothing at all. Beca takes the time to admire the curve of Chloe’s nose and the line of her jaw, but above all, the unmistakable smile on Chloe’s lips. Lips which slowly spread into a full-fledged smile as Chloe’s head turns towards her. “I do,” Chloe murmurs. “Too much.”

The gentle scrape of Chloe’s fingers down Beca’s back, dangerously close to her ass, is almost enough to set Beca off again. She stifles a smile and battles back the stirring arousal to press a chaste kiss to Chloe’s lips.

“Beca,” Chloe murmurs when they part.

Beca hums quietly in response and closes her eyes as she kisses Chloe’s neck. Back and forth across patches of skin she wants to commit to memory.

“Beca,” Chloe says more seriously. More urgently. “You’re okay, right? With everything that happened today.”

Beca sighs and moves away from Chloe’s neck. She opens an eye and forces herself to maintain a neutral expression. “What, you mean us winning another acapella championship?”

“ _Beca_ ,” Chloe whines. She pinches her side. "C'mon."

“Everything is _fine_ ,” Beca squeaks out at the sensation. Then she jumps as Chloe’s fingers continue on to find her ticklish spot. “Chloe!”

“Beca,” Chloe repeats, her voice lilting into a teasing tone. She repeats Beca’s name as she continues her attack, refusing to stop until Beca dissolves into uncontrollable giggles and rolls on top of Chloe’s body to pin her arms above her head. Chloe’s eyes are soft, but expectant and Beca knows how seriously Chloe takes her comfort.

“Chloe, I love you,” Beca says seriously. “That was…of course it was fine. More than fine.” Her brow furrows as she leans back. “You’re okay too, right?”

Chloe smiles, eyes as bright as ever. “I’m perfect, Bec.”

It takes a minute for both their breaths to finally even back out. By then, they’re both smiling happily into a series of new, gentle kisses, both content to just be with each other, but Beca feels anything but calm. Beca feels herself beginning to grow antsy again, desperate to feel Chloe’s hands on her body and she quickly tilts her head, attempting to kick their kissing up a few notches. Chloe smiles into the kiss, like she _knows_ and is all too willing to oblige.

Then—

Chloe chuckles at the sound of Beca’s stomach making its presence known, like being sharply doused with cold water. She presses a kiss to Beca’s jaw, giggling at Beca’s dismayed and embarrassed expression. “We could order room service.”

Beca tries not to pout and fails miserably. “Fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://isthemusictoblame.tumblr.com/) / [Twitter](https://twitter.com/tizzleshizzle).


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